Whiting: Detailer saves to become Santa in El Salvador

It's not just better to give than to receive. It's also a lot more fun – and rewarding.

Every Christmas, Paul does exactly what Santa does. But Paul doesn't have a magic sleigh. He flies coach.

On Sunday, the self-employed auto detailer who makes ends meet by selling discarded furniture, installing Christmas lights and helping people move will board a plane for his homeland, El Salvador.

Nestled in the belly of the plane will be a pile of suitcases jammed with toys, clothing and medical supplies. It's the Aliso Viejo resident's seventh consecutive Christmas trip.

And this trip is extra special. Mrs. Claus – Paul's wife, Lydia – is joining her husband. So are their two little elves.

• • •

In the family room, there's a 2-foot-wide wooden chest, a treasure chest of sorts.

Lydia smiles when her husband, Paul, rises off the couch, walks past their 10-foot artificial Christmas tree – a Dumpster rescue tree – past four stockings hung with care and opens the lid.

Carefully rolled papers spill out, each with a faded pink bow. These are love letters, ink on paper, written during a time when Paul, born in El Salvador, lived in Southern California. And Lydia, born in Southern California, lived in El Salvador.

Despite my pathetic Spanish, the letters' shared hopes and dreams burst through. Many are decorated with drawings from when Paul was going through a drawing phase. Next to a very good Geppetto and Pinocchio, there's this:

"From your future husband, with love."

• • •

Lydia's parents moved back to San Salvador when she was a toddler. The daughter of a high school English teacher, she had her first crush at age 11. He was two years older and a student in her mother's class named Paul.

In those days, Paul, now 36, was all about soccer and working. His father died when he was 7. Soon, there was little left of Dad's wholesale food business. At age 9, Paul started working for his uncle, loading heavy bags of produce on trucks.

He hoped to earn enough for a bicycle. But such a luxury wasn't to be. Instead, Paul made barely enough for clothes.

Despite Paul's struggling grades, his English teacher saw a good boy with great heart.

By the time she was 13, Lydia mustered enough courage to approach her mother. "I like Paul," she said. "And Paul likes me. Is it OK if we go out?"

Out? No, Mom said. But Paul could drop by when mother was home.

The years slipped by in a blur of soccer and holding hands. But Paul wanted more opportunity to build a life, and he knew El Salvador wasn't going to give him that.

In 1993, when he was 17, Paul took off to realize his dreams in the United States. But he didn't forget Lydia. And he didn't forget a certain image. In 1986, when Paul was 10, an earthquake hit San Salvador. Some 1,500 people were killed. On television, Paul saw video with a child's foot sticking out of the rubble at a children's hospital.

• • •

For a little while, Paul lived with his sister in South County. Then he rented a room in Laguna Beach, went to Laguna High School, played soccer and worked.

He also focused on learning English, something he knew was key to success. With teachers he calls "warm, friendly and welcoming," he quickly became proficient.

For three years, Paul and Lydia exchanged letters. When there was a little extra money, they talked on the phone. One day, Lydia opened an envelope. Inside was a plane ticket.

Twenty years old, she asked permission from her mother to go the U.S. Mom said OK, and Lydia moved in with her uncle in Los Angeles.

Every day, Paul got up before sunrise and worked from dawn to evening at a gas station and washing cars. Every night, he drove to Los Angeles to spend a few hours with Lydia. Then he drove back to Laguna.

"At that age," Paul recalls, "I felt like a superhero. I could do anything."

But there was more than age on Paul's side. There was – and remains – a deep belief in the American dream.

"If you do good work, you don't have to worry about getting work. And if you work hard, then you don't have to worry about money."

A decade ago, Paul decided to open his own business, Bojorquez Mobile Auto Detail. As at Laguna High, he discovered there were people who encouraged him, mentored him.

Of living in Orange County, Paul tells me, "We're blessed to be here."

He explains that he started his mission after two of his original customers, those who helped the most, died of cancer. While he watched their struggle, he thought of the children at the quake-damaged hospital in San Salvador, particularly the kids with cancer.

He knew their pain, understood what it's like to grow up without toys and decided to help.

"If those men (his customers) suffered that much, imagine what it's like for a child?"

Then he saved more money so he could buy needed medical supplies in El Salvador where permits aren't needed and prices are lower. Then he saved enough to fly to San Salvador.

Still, he wasn't prepared for what he experienced walking into Benjamin Bloom Children's Hospital.

"It's sad. Mothers don't have places to sleep or sit. Some kids can't talk because of the pain. Some can't sit up. They cry out when they reach for toys."

• • •

Since that first visit, Paul knew he needed to keep going back. But giving went beyond the children. There was that Santa thing.

Of helping, Paul says, "It feels good. It feels fulfilling."

We look at photos of Paul at the hospital during different trips. Bald children lay in simple beds in stark hospital rooms. Some smile, some look bewildered, the toys almost too much to comprehend.

Lydia beams with pride. "I admire him so much because we're not rich, yet he keeps going."

She tells me they spend several thousand dollars a year on supplies and the cost of the trip. I look at dozens of handwritten notes and drawings thanking Paul and his family. Most are intricately decorated with drawings. Some have pasted-on hearts, tiny flowers.